Page 8 of Deep Blue Lies
I can’t take this anymore. It was always clear where this argument was going to go. I think we both knew it, the moment I walked in the door. We might as well get on with it.
“To you? That’s rich. When all I’ve done is exactly the same thing that you did, when you were my age.”
She opens her mouth, pretending to be shocked.
“You went to medical school, got kicked out, and then buggered off to Greece. Only you went a lot further, because then you got pregnant with me. But it turned out OK. You’re always saying how well you did, going into pharmacy, starting the business…”
“I’m well aware of what happened inmy own life, Ava. It’s a very big factor in why I wanted a better life for you.” She takes a meaningful sigh, mutters under her breath: “Jesus Christ. You had it all going for you, Ava. You had it all handed to you, and now…” She shakes her head.
“Maybe I did…” I try and foster some energy to my argument. “But did you ever think about whether I wanted it? Whether I wanted to be a doctor, or whether you were just pushing me into it, all because you failed?—”
“I didn’tfail, Ava. I…” She stops, calms herself, and takes another sip from her glass, so that she’s icy-cool again.
“I understand. You’re framing this asmyfault? Because I wanted the best for you?”
We’re both silent for a long time. I don’t know what to say.
“Ava, youtoldme you wanted to be a doctor. When you were five years old.”
I look down at the floor, trying to control myself, the way she does, but it’s hard. I’ve heard thissomany times, and maybe Ididsay that. But I also wanted to be a primary-school teacher, and a zoo keeper. They were just the jobs I knew about.
“It’s a good career, being a doctor,” Mum goes on. “You have a good salary, you’re respected…”
“It’s a bit late for that, Mum.” My anger bursts through. “It’s over. They’ve kicked me out.”
My outburst seems to shock her. She runs her hand through her hair. It’s quite short, very blonde. With my dark hair, people often don’t realise we’re mother and daughter.
“What did you want to be then? What dream did you have that I prevented you from chasing? For God’s sake, Ava…” She doesn’t want an answer, but I don’t have one to give anyway. Truth is, I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to be a doctor. Maybe I still do. But it was never this big life-ambition, this dream I was chasing the way she told people. That was always her more than me.
“Why didyouleave medical school?” I ask. But she shakes her head.
“I don’t think this is the time to discuss that.”
“Yeah, but it never is, is it? You never talk about that. You never talk about Greece. You never speak about what happened when you were there. I don’t know why we left. I’ve never understood why it’s all such a big secret.”
“It’s not a secret, Ava. It’s never been a secret.” She tightens her brow, considering. I think she knows this time it’s different. This time she’s going to have to give me something.
She takes a deep breath. “It’s just a period of my life that I’m not particularly proud of. A time where I made some mistakes thatI sincerely hoped you wouldn’t repeat.” She fixes me a look, but I don’t care right now. I ask her again.
“I still want to know. You’ve still never told me. Like, literally never told me. I know I was born in Greece, but I don’t know the circumstances. It’s just weird why you’ve never said anything.”
“That’s not true, Ava. That’s nonsense.” She pulls herself up straight in her seat, she’s a little taller than me. “I don’t find it necessary to dwell on the past, but you’re well aware of the basic facts. I took a summer job on the island of Alythos, when I was in my fourth year at university. And then…” – she looks away – “I found myself pregnant. It wasn’t practical to continue my studies with a baby, but I’d done enough by then to transfer onto a pharmacy course. So that’s what I did. That enabled me to bring you up while making the best use of my skills. And I didn’t think I did too bad a job. At least not until today.”
It’s hardly the full story though, is it? Like, why didn’t she come back to England when she found out she was pregnant? When did we come back? How old was I? And most important of all, who the hell was my dad, and why has she never – not one single time – talked about him?
But something stops me saying this. Something always has. It’s just the way we are as a family. She’s always made it clear this isn’t a subject I’m allowed to know about. Don’t ask. Never tell.
And yet here’s the really weird thing: Iknowshe was happy there. Happier than I’ve ever seen her, my whole life. I know because she keeps this photo in her office, at the back of a filing cabinet where she thinks I’ve never thought to look. In it, she’s standing with this other girl, Imogen Grant. Both of them are about the same age I am now, and behind them is a sign for a place called the Aegean Dream Resort. There’s these rocky mountains in the background, and beautiful, lush, green gardens, and this hint of sparkling blue sea. But it’s the look on their faces that has always drawn me back to this photo, which I’ve stared at when I know Mum’s out of the house. They both look so happy, Mum and herfriend. So excited, so content, so filled with life. I’ve literally never seen Mum look like that in real life. Not one time.
“What will you do now?” Mum’s thin voice cuts me back to reality.
I shrug. “I guess maybe I’ll look for a job?”
“Where do you intend to live?” That shocks me a little.
“Um…I was thinking here,” I say awkwardly. “At least for a while. Maybe I’ll get my own place, when I can.”
She scoffs suddenly. “Your own place? Do you know how much your own place would cost around here?”
